


Perfect Storm

by verbaeghe



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:57:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbaeghe/pseuds/verbaeghe
Summary: Slater blows over the rim before taking a sip of his mocha. He sighs in relief, starting to feel a little more like himself as he makes his way towards his favorite table. It’s hidden in the back, between a couple of shelves that no one ever seems to need any books from, so it’s quiet back there, which is just what he nee-There’s a person sitting at his table.





	Perfect Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkone/gifts), [deputyperrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deputyperrish/gifts).



> Thank you to my beta, who continues to be awesome! ♥

Slater is having a very bad day.

First, He oversleeps because his roommate, Jake, kept him up half the night giggling on the phone with that French exchange student. He dresses quickly, putting on the first item that passes a smell test. He checks himself in the mirror over his dresser and sighs at his hair. How is it possible for it to be flat on one side and sticking straight up on the other? He runs his fingers through it in a quick attempt at evening it out, but the fluff won’t flatten and the flat won’t fluff. He doesn’t have anymore time to deal with it, so he just pulls a beanie on and heads out the door.

And then the line at the coffee shop is out the door. Great, this is going to make him even more late, but the alternative is falling asleep in class. The line actually moves a little more quickly than he expects, and he’s just thinking that maybe today won’t be so bad when he turns to leave and someone runs into him, spilling his coffee down the side of his shirt, they don’t even stop to apologize. The line is still too long to even consider getting back in it, so he has about a third of a cup to make do with as he rushes towards the lecture hall.

He shows up for class smelling like coffee. Whatever, there're worse things he could smell like, and it isn’t like he has time to go back to his room. He manages to settle into his usual desk just before when he’d be considered late and opens his backpack so he can hand in his homework. Only it isn’t there. He looks at every paper three times, but it just...isn’t there. He asks if he can bring it back later and the answer is no even after pointing out that he’s never missed an assignment before.

Slater gives it up as a lost cause, even if he huffs when he sits back into his seat to flip his laptop open. He opens notepad and starts taking notes.

He wastes no time snapping his computer closed and shoving it back into his bag the minute class is dismissed. He debates getting some lunch but reflects on the way his day has gone so far and decides that maybe he could use some quiet time instead and heads for the library.

He breathes in deeply as he steps into the library. There isn’t much he likes more than the scent of coffee and books...which reminds him...he heads for the small cafe in the corner. He orders his drink, offering the barista who always tries to flirt with him a polite smile when he accepts his cup.  

Slater blows over the rim before taking a sip of his mocha. He sighs in relief, starting to feel a little more like himself as he makes his way towards his favorite table. It’s hidden in the back, between a couple of shelves that no one ever seems to need any books from, so it’s quiet back there, which is just what he nee-

There’s a person sitting at his table. Someone of the jock persuasion, if the broad shoulders that fill out the jacket that the guy’s wearing are anything to go by. Slater doesn’t have any problem with jocks, Jake is a jock, he just has a problem with people stealing _his table_...and on today of all days, it’s just one thing too many.  

He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, and makes his way over to the table. He puts his bag down, letting it thump a bit to get the guy’s attention. He glances up, and Slater is looking into ice blue eyes. He swallows. “This is, uh. This is my table.”

“Did you reserve it?” the guy cocks his head, adjusts his backwards ball cap, frowns a bit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see a sign…?” He looks around and under the table, searching for a lost sign. He shrugs and starts to gather his stuff, and Slater could just let it go and have his table to himself, but he feels a bit like a jerk.

“No, I don’t reserve it, I just…” he shrugs with one shoulder, hopes his point is clear.

“Oh, well, in that case, we can share it, yeah?” Not so clear. The guy leans back in his seat, offers Slater a grin. “I really like it back here.”

Slater wants to say no, that he won’t share, that even if it isn’t officially his table, he just wants to be alone right now. Then again, this guy, with stupid perfect light eyes, broad shoulders and his easy grin, is sort of the bright spot so far today.

“Uh, sure,” he mutters, settling into the chair in front of him. He pulls out his laptop, flipping it back open, frowns when nothing happens, then panics when he thinks that it may be broken.

“Are you okay?” the guy asks. Slater looks up at him. No, he is not okay, his whole life is on his computer and-

It boots up when he presses the power button, which is a relief as he’s scrambling for his cord to appease the angry blinking battery indicator. He gets it plugged in then looks back up at the guy, who appears to be pretty amused by the whole situation.

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine?”

“It isn’t anything big. I lost some notes because my computer died, that’s all.”

“From the class we just had?”

Slater blinks. “We?”

“Yeah.”  The guy chuckles, pulling out some papers. “I sit in the back. Here, you can go make copies of my notes.”

“Thanks, uh…”

“Braydon.” he smiles at Slater and it’s the worst thing that’s happened so far today, because he doesn’t need a crush on an out-of-his-league school athlete on top of everything else...and then Braydon pulls off his hat, reveals reddish curls that are almost ringlets and are just...just _amazing_ , and he was wrong. _That_ is the worst thing.

“I’m Slater,” he manages to squeak out. “Um. I’ll go make copies and be right back.” He turns and tries not to look like he’s fleeing the scene, but his heart is beating out of his ears so he isn’t sure that he manages even a little.

He taps the notes Braydon gave him on the corner of the copier, straightening them before setting them in the tray and pushes the copy button, heaving a big sigh when the machine hums to life.

He can’t believe that today, when he’s the biggest fail boat he’s ever been in his entire life, today is the day that someone like Braydon shows up at his table. He takes in another deep breath, bites his bottom lip. He’ll just be nice for a day and forget it ever happened, Braydon probably doesn’t even like guys.

Slater feels like he’s breathing easier, like he’s finally more like his normal self, by the time the copier is spitting out the last paper. He’s overreacting because of his shitty day, that’s all. He gathers all the papers, returns to the table with the copies in hand.

“Thanks again,” he says quietly, handing Braydon’s notes back over.

“It’s no problem.”

Slater throws himself down, pulls out a book. He’s just finding his place and uncapping his highlighter with his teeth when Braydon speaks again.

“So, this is where you usually sit?”

Slater makes a face, spits the cap out onto the open book, and looks up and over the top of his laptop.  

“Yeah, I like it because it’s _quiet_.” Slater smirks at Braydon and ducks back behind his laptop, but not before he catches another glimpse of that grin that is going to be the death of him.

“Sometimes it’s nice to talk.”

“Not in the library,” Slater replies, mentally cursing hot jocks that never stop talking, even though it isn’t a problem he’s ever had before. Jake and his French boy don’t count; Jake isn’t talking to _him_...and they aren’t one another’s type anyway.

But he digresses.

“I guess that’s fair. Maybe we can-” Braydon stops and Slater looks up just in time to see him pull out a phone. “Oh, I didn’t realize it was so late.” His phone goes right back into his pocket and he starts gathering his stuff. “Catch ya later,” he says, standing and zipping up his bag in one motion. He grabs his hat, slips it back onto his head.

“Yeah, uh. Later,” Slater echoes. He watches Braydon leave, even going so far as to follow him over his shoulder, watching Braydon until he turns out of sight at the end of the aisle.

“It should be illegal to look like that,” Slater mutters to himself, turning back to his book.

//

Slater has just finished the last of the homework that he intends to do tonight when Jake walks into their room. They get along pretty well, but they could probably talk to one another a little more often. Well, maybe if Jake didn’t spend all of his time staring at his phone these days.

It’s sort of a surprise when Jake greets him with, “Hey, I heard you met Braydon today.”

“That I did. He lent me his notes,” Slater pushes himself up, hanging his feet over his bed as he leans back against his wall. “I take it he plays hockey with you?”

“Yeah.” Jake looks down when his phone chirps. He types something out, then looks back to Slater. “What do you think of him?”

“Of...Braydon?”

“Who else are we talking about?” Jake asks with a snort. He crosses the room, throws a bag down on his own bed.

“I don’t know, maybe you were talking about your boy,” Slater mutters. He grabs the papers scattered on his bed, stacking them into a haphazard pile and placing them on his bedside table.

“Well, I’m not, so…” Jake trails off, looks at Slater with wide eyes. He seems a little _too_ invested in it and it’s weirding Slater out.

“Why do you care?” Slater feels a blush bloom on his cheeks and spread to his neck. He’s hoping that he doesn’t look as blotchy as he thinks he does.

“I don’t,” Jake shrugs. “He just mentioned meeting you, and you seemed a little pissy this morning but he didn’t seem like he’d faced the Wrath of Slater, so I was just asking.” Jake makes a little face. “It’s called being polite.”

“Well, be polite about your French boy,” Slater says.

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Jake laughs, pulling his phone back out.

“Your face doesn’t make any sense,” Slater replies. Jake laughs harder.

//

Slater spends the next week specifically not thinking about Braydon. Or Braydon’s hair. Or his smile. Or his- Jesus. He isn’t doing a very good job of this.

At least everything is going better. He woke up early enough, he looks good, well, as good as he’s going to get anyway. He didn’t run into a line at the coffee shop, and he even got to drink his coffee before the doors opened for class.

He spends the whole class specifically not turning around to see where Braydon sits.

This week seems to have a theme. It’s better than last week’s theme in some ways, but worse in others.

Slater is slow to gather his things when class is dismissed and he’s relieved when he turns to exit and the room is empty. He heaves a full-bodied sigh as he starts up the steps.

It’s a nice day as he walks across the quad towards the library; way too nice for January. Slater will take the rare day of weak sunshine without complaint though. He closes his eyes for a few steps and tips his face upward. If he tries hard enough he can pretend he’s somewhere nice, like a Florida beach, not bundled up in three layers on his way to study in the library.

Slater walks into the library at his usual time, gets his usual mocha from the usual flirty barista, and heads back to his table. He chokes on the sip he’s taking of his reliable ol’ mocha when he rounds the corner to see Braydon sitting there. He ducks out of sight when Braydon looks up, because he needs to go clean up the (thankfully smaller than last week’s) mess.

He can’t walk up to Braydon with mocha running down his face...even if he doesn’t know what Braydon is doing there again.

He returns to the table after a few minutes of furious paper towel scrubbing and repeated passes under the hand dryer in the upstairs bathroom. He goes for nonchalance when he stops behind the seat across from Braydon, “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I mean, it’s such a good place to study,” Braydon makes a note in one of his book margins then looks up at Slater from under his lashes with a smile that’s like a punch to Slater’s gut. What in the hell did Slater do to deserve this? “And I like the company.”

Slater doesn’t like the company. He doesn’t _want_ to like the company. Well, he’s trying to not like the company, but Braydon isn’t making it easy.

He sighs, takes a seat, and pulls out his study materials. They study together for about forty-five minutes without really saying anything to one another, unlike last week, but it’s a companionable silence that doesn’t feel like it has to be filled. It’s nice.

Eventually Slater decides to sneak a peek across the table at Braydon. He doesn’t expect what he finds, which is Braydon looking somewhat confused by what he’s reading. Slater wonders if it’s the class that they share and if he could...

“Are you...do you need some help?” Slater makes a little face at himself because he can’t believe he sounds so stupid, but the expression on Braydon’s face when he looks up is one of relief.

“Yeah, I just. I’ve read this one passage from our assignment like ten times and it still doesn’t make any sense,” Braydon’s face screws up in a grimace, his eyebrows press into a furrow and Slater has the sudden urge to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. (Months later, Slater would realize that _this_ was when he was completely gone on Braydon, but in the moment he just offers his aid.)

“We can look at it together. Maybe it will make sense with a new pair of eyes?”

“Could you? That would be great,” Braydon pushes the book out, but not really away, so Slater slides into the chair closest to Braydon, moving closer as he takes a seat, settling the book into a more central location between them.

They spend another hour together. Slater explains things in a hushed voice, he borrows Braydon’s pen to scribble his own notes in the margin. He leans in way more than he means to at one point and when he looks up, Braydon is so close that he can see individual flecks of a lighter color in Braydon’s eyes and the dark grey ring around the iris. It’s too much but he wants to lean even closer...and then he realizes how creepy he probably seems.

“Oh, god, I’m sorry,” Slater jerks away.

“No, it’s...don’t worry about it,” Braydon says, his voice soft. They sit there just looking at one another for a moment, and Slater feels...something. He doesn’t, he isn’t _special_ to Braydon. It doesn’t matter what Braydon’s eyes look like, or how the curls of his hair frame his face perfectly. Braydon just happened to pick a table in the back of the library for the same reasons he did, and he needs to remember that.

Slater is just getting around to actively making the decision to look away, to maybe return to his seat and his own work when he hears Braydon’s pocket buzz.

“Oh, I have to go,” Braydon says after checking his phone. He looks up, his smile returning as he pockets his phone. Slater watches him pack up, feeling a sense of deja vu when Braydon packs and zips his bag the exact same way as the previous week.

It’s different though when Braydon pauses to pat him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help, man.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Slater replies. He tips his lips into a half smile, looks up. “Glad I could help.” He can’t quite parse the look that flashes across Braydon’s face.

“Catch you later,” is all he says before turning and leaving. Slater knows he shouldn’t watch him go again, but he does before he sighs and returning to his own work.

//

Slater decides to switch things up a few weeks later. He heads straight for the table, thinking that maybe if he arrives first it won’t catch him so off-balance if, who is he kidding, _when_ Braydon is there.

He still isn’t sure what’s going on. Jake had asked a couple more questions, but Slater avoided answering them because it doesn’t matter. Braydon and Slater don’t interact at all outside of the time that they spend in the library at the table, and he doesn’t know why Jake keeps asking probing questions about what they do when they-

He stops short when he sees that Braydon sitting at the table, already pulling out his study materials. There is also a cup sitting on the side of the table where Slater sits. He isn’t sure what to make of it so he pushes it all to the back of his mind and heads over.

“Is this for me?” he asks when he arrives.

“Uh, yeah.” Braydon tips his face towards Slater, but doesn’t make eye contact before looking back down at the open book in front of him. “It seemed like you might need some caffeine today? I noticed you didn’t have a cup in class, so I just…” He shrugs and Slater can see a bit of pinking on his cheeks even though he doesn’t get why-

Oh, yes he does.

“Aw, nah. I’m not usually as pissy as I was that one day, caffeinated or not,” Slater picks up the cup and settles into the seat next to Braydon. “It was the perfect storm of shit, that’s all.” He takes a sip. Mocha, done just the way he likes it with two creams and sugars. He doesn’t even know how Braydon managed that.

“No, I know you aren’t.” Braydon’s cheeks still look pretty pink. “I wanted to do something for you because you always help me with my work, even after I invaded your space.”

“You didn’t invade my space!” Slater objects. Braydon snorts quietly in response. “Okay, yeah, I was pretty jerky about it, but like I said. Shitty day.” Slater takes another drink, sets the cup down. “Seriously, you wouldn’t even believe all of it if I told you.”

“Maybe I would?” Braydon offers, that damn perfect smile finally appearing on his face. Slater swallows and goes right back to his cup, wanting to occupy himself with anything, and that’s all he has for the moment. He takes deep breath. He studies the cup more intently than is probably necessary while he tells Braydon all about the morning he’d had back on the first day that they’d shared his table.

Braydon sits back in his chair after Slater is done. He cocks his head, shaking it in disbelief. “I can’t...wow, how did you not _kill_ me for being at your table when you came here for some peace after all of that?”

“Well,” Slater shrugs with one shoulder, huffs a small laugh. “You did lend me some notes.”

“There is that,” Braydon laughs too. Slater is glad that they’re in the back.

He remembers his manners after a moment. He wiggles the cup. “Hey, thanks. It’s even the way I like it.”

“Yeah, I asked the barista,” Braydon pauses and Slater wonders what he’s thinking about. “She wasn’t too happy for some reason, but she did it.”

“Oh, yeah. She hits on me like all the time,” Slater makes a face. “I’m not sure why, though.”

“No?” Braydon’s voice sounds disbelieving which causes Slater to look back at him.

“Should I?”

“Well, maybe.” Braydon smiles, but it seems strained. “Or maybe not, I dunno.”

Slater feels himself blush, but can’t come up with a response so he opens his book, attempts to study. He’s having a hard time concentrating though, because he’s pretty much just spending his time chewing on his bottom lip and watching Braydon highlight things.

“Do you like being on the hockey team?” Slater doesn’t know what makes him ask, but the grin on Braydon’s face when he looks up from the book in front of him makes Slater glad that he did.

“It’s great,” Braydon pauses, maybe gathering his thoughts, then continues, ”All the practice on top of my class load is hard sometimes, but the scholarship is what made this school affordable for me, so, you know...” Braydon trails off, shrugs. Slater really doesn’t know, but he can imagine. Sort of.

“You seem to do really well. Your notes were amazing.”  

“Yeah?” Braydon’s smile is soft. Slater takes it in for a second, then starts to drop his eyes back to his work, but Braydon speaks again, “Hey, how come I never see you at games? Do you not like hockey?”

“Oh, no. I do!” Slater grins. “I even played for a while when I was small, but they wanted to put me in goal and no thanks.” He shakes his head, continues, “Jake used to give me his guest ticket but now he always gives it to his French Boy and it isn’t _that_ much to go, but I can save the money for food.”

“Well, if you want…” Braydon trails off as he roots around in his backpack. “Here.” He hands a ticket to Slater. “I still have my guest ticket so you can go to the next game if you want...like I already said.” Braydon makes a face at himself and it’s _adorable_. Ugh.

“Thanks,” Slater says, looking down at the ticket in his hand as Braydon’s pocket buzzes right on time. “Have fun at practice.”

“I’ll try,” Braydon jokes, packing his stuff.

Slater watches him leave, like always. There’s a heavy feeling in his chest that he recognizes as longing once Braydon is gone.

“This is getting out of hand; get yourself under control,” he chastises himself as he turns to slide the ticket into his bag.

//

Slater deliberates back and forth with himself about whether he’ll go, but he talks himself out of it when he decides that he would probably just look desperate. Braydon only gave him the ticket because he complained that he never gets to go, so it isn’t like he's really obligated.

So that’s that.

//

On the day of the game he’s laying on his bed flipping through a magazine when Jake walks in. He tips his head in greeting without looking up, not expecting more than a ‘hey man’ in return, so he’s sort of surprised when Jake asks him, “Why aren’t you getting ready for the game?”

“What?” Slater blinks up at Jake stupidly.

“The game? You should be getting ready for it.” Jake doesn’t look pleased and Slater is a little confused. “He’s expecting you to show up.”

“Um. I mean, Braydon gave me a ticket, but I figured it was just because he still had it.”

“Nope.”

“Nope? It wasn’t because he still had it?”

“I mean ‘nope’ as in no more dancing around this.”

“Dancing around…what?” Slater presses his eyebrows together, confused.

“Braydon likes you. Go to the damn game.”

“What?!” Slater sits up a little too quickly, almost feels lightheaded from it. He shakes the feeling away, “No, he doesn’t. That’s...no way.”

“Yeah, uh-huh, and why do you think he’s at your table every week?” Jake crosses his arms, tosses his head. It’s all very sassy, and Slater isn’t here for that. _He’s_ the sassy one.

“I know you aren’t trying to out-sass me,” he says, gaining his feet.

“I’m not trying to anything you, except make you go to the game.” Jake reaches for Slater, shakes him. “I know you have this thing where you think that you don’t have ‘it’, or whatever, but you do for him.” Jake stops, gives Slater’s shoulder a squeeze.

“And even though you think avoiding the question means I don’t catch on, well, I’m sorry. I’m a _bit_ smarter than that and I know that you like him too.” Jake smirks at him. “Go to the game and stop being an asshole.”

“I’m not being an-”

“Yes you are,” Jake interrupts. “It’s time to make up for it now.” Slater just stands there, feeling dumb. “Are you going or not?!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll go,” Slater shrugs Jake off, starts gathering stuff so he can shower and get ready. “Speaking of which, shouldn’t you?”

“Aw, shit,” Jake runs out the door after looking at the clock on the stand.

//

The smile that Braydon flashes at Slater when he’s in the seat makes him feel like he’s missed a lot.

Then Braydon points in his direction after he crashes the net and scores a goal and Slater _knows_  he did.         

The game is light and vibrant, noisy and colorful. The crowd is amazing, with all the chants and cheering, and the pep band interjecting occasionally. Best of all, Braydon looks amazing out there hovering at the blue line and throwing checks.

It’s a blowout for their school in the end. Slater smiles while Braydon skates to center ice with his teammates to salute the crowd. He’s named as the third star because that goal had been the first of his collegiate career, and no one is cheering louder for him than Slater.

//

Slater waits after the game for a long time. The Zamboni has already cut the ice and the lights have already been shut off, but he’s still just sitting there. Someone must know about him, though, because no one has even tried to make him leave. He sighs, picks at his fingernails a bit.

“So, what’d you think?”

Slater startles, looks up at Braydon. He smirks. “It was okay, I mean. The guy I was cheering for only scored one goal, but what are you gonna do?”

“His first goal, though,” Braydon counters.

“What makes you think that’s who I was cheering for?” Slater uses Jake's earlier words as fuel to flirt instead of blushing and changing the subject like he normally would.

Braydon smiles, holding the puck out like he's presenting it, and-

“Call it a hunch,” he replies. Slater looks at the puck, his heart beating a thousand miles a minute, just like on that first day. “Go on, take it."

“Are you...sure?” Slater blinks up at Braydon. The way that he’s being looked at takes his breath away.

“Of course I’m sure.”

Slater reaches out, starts to take it but changes his mind and turns his hand so Braydon can place the puck into it. He wraps his fingers around it, surprised it’s still a little cool.

His breath catches when Braydon’s hand closes over his. They sit there holding hands until Slater can’t take the silence any longer. He looks up, intending to say _anything_ , and that’s when Braydon leans in and kisses him.

A squeak of surprise escapes him and then he gets with the program, tangling the fingers of his free hand into Braydon’s still-damp curls. He tugs a bit, drawing the best sound he’s ever heard out of Braydon’s throat and then his tongue skims along Braydon’s lips. They part easily for him, their tongues tangle in a slow slide that sends a shiver down his spine.

“Wow,” Slater gasps, pressing his forehead to Braydon’s in the aftermath. “We’re going to be so good together.”

“We already are,” Braydon counters.

Slater debates making a joke about how cheesy it all is, but he doesn’t because he realizes that Braydon is right. He swallows, nods his head faintly, and replies, “Yeah.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the two of you for having similar requests when you signed up for treats. Hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
